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By W. Joseph O'Connell

--Jarrell, TX

Early morning, Sunday under the Florida sun,

reflecting on the weekend,

heading back home for Texas,

first time I didn’t drink in a while.

It takes all day to cross the Sunshine State.

I stop in Pensacola for a fried chicken dinner,

then the long haul through the pinewood south,

bridges over green lakes and swampland.

Bugs splattering against the windshield keep me awake.

Something in me seems to ask myself,

"Why am I trying so hard?"

Crazy, moving forward,

volunteering for every conflict that came along,

twenty years in the service.

Anything can be justified to keep myself grounded,

feeling everything and nothing at the same time.

Marriage was the first casualty of war.

Now the house is empty, and the miles traveled are lonesome.

All that is left is an idea that I am destined to be alone.

The road at night remains my best friend;

as always, it lets me pretend I’m still the hero.